


Salt And Swell Of The Ocean

by callmedok



Series: Waiting For The Night To Fall [3]
Category: Brütal Legend
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Gender Identity, Happy Ending, Magical Transition, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Polyamory, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, written by a trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-12 06:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmedok/pseuds/callmedok
Summary: Kill Master dies in an accident in the Doom lands. Lempi walks out of the ashes, and the Doom welcome her without hesitance.Or, a variant on Doom AU because I'm indulgent.





	Salt And Swell Of The Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm gonna be super transparent: I am a trans dude, writing a trans woman. Part of how I treat Lempi here is based on Laura Jane Grace's biography/memoir thing cause OH BOY it was wild to see some similarities there, and also based a little on how I've gone/go through things. Not all trans experiences are the same, so there's your blanket disclaimer on that one. Some vague obscured body horror comes up during the magical transitioning segment, because Aetulia kind of forgot what it's like having a body and feeling pain.
> 
> There is a scene of Lempi being injured by Eddie, but it is in no way related to transphobia, it's not to fill in the trope of 'trans women must suffer' or 'trans people are gross!' No, this is a scene that always pops up in Doom AU and lends itself to exploring variations of Kill Master in the same situation. Lem/Lempi always pass themselves off as one of the undead, so there's always Eddie going 'AGH EVIL.'
> 
> Also, Lempi's deadname? Why, I suddenly can't read, she uses Lem as a nickname for Lempi and that's it, that's all y'all get about her early life besides her Uncle Diarmuid being supportive and Lempi aggressively shoving herself back into the closet after he passed, cause things got rough.
> 
> Title come from The Ocean by Against Me!

“The people who needed to know, did. It was- it was just… easier, y’know? Saying nothin’.” She admits blandly as possible, even if she’s betrayed by the way her cigarette shakes between her fingers. “Felt like… dunno. I’d finish everythin’, an’ finally disappear. Grin an’ bear it, til I didn’t have to anymore.” She takes a drag off of her cigarette, and amuses herself for a moment by managing to blow out a smoke ring. Took her a good deal of concentration to pull off, it was almost disappointing that an emotional upheaval was enough to get it done.

“…You don’t have to though, not anymore. Things can change.” Ophelia replies gently, resting a hand on her arm. The coolness of the Queen’s hand leeches in through the fabric of her shirtsleeve, and all she can manage is a bitter laugh, sharp and jagged. She doesn’t even try to hide the self-deprecating twist to her smile as she drops her cigarette, grinds it out under her boot heel.

“Sure is a big fuckin’ thing, though. But, it’s like-” She gestures loosely, fingers grasping at nothing in the air as she has to finally put vague concepts into words. Things she’s tried to bury and hide from the light of day, trying so hard to pretend they never existed at all until it was like fingers wrapping around her throat, stones crushing her chest. Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth as she struggles to name things, words like lead when they finally leave.

“I’m not- I’m not like you, or the Brides. I mean, I want to look-“ Beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, all words that have never been hers, might never be hers but Aetulia’s fucking _teeth_ she wants them-

“Nice, but it’s just…” Her words trail off with a noise of frustration, a harsh set to her mouth she can’t help. There’s the sting of tears threatening to fall, and a tangled ball of wire with sharp thorns digging into her chest.

She squeezes her eyes shut, fingers digging into her jeans roughly as she finally says, voice sickeningly soft, “It’s too late, ain’t it? Somethin’ I’m stuck with.” If she was in private right now she’s already be squeezing her own face, fingers digging into the back of her neck as she curled into herself because what was the point, what was the _point. S_ he’d lived like this for years so what was the use of crying over it when tears did fucking nothing, just made this sick twisting feeling inside her even worse-

(One of the few elk rider stories she still remembers was about someone like her with a skin that didn’t fit, but then the Five Ladies wove them a new one when they finally found them after seven days and seven nights of journeying. But no matter how many times she called out, they never answered-)

Ophelia’s cool hand on her bare cheek shocks her from her thoughts, skin tingling where she’d shaved earlier, and when her eyes meet Ophelia’s something in her…

Something in her just quietly snaps, tears finally falling as she sucks in a shuddering breath, heart crumpling inside her chest. The world feels too big in that moment even with just the fog and the stars to bear witness, her own skin not enough to contain her. Feels too small as Ophelia’s lips press against her chin in that light teasing way as always, and her hand is shaking as she reaches out, rests it gently on the other woman’s waist. There’s the invisible current of the Sea under her hand, the playful clinging of Tears, and it’s- it‘s unreal, some distant dream come to life.

“It’s never too late, love. All someone needs is a day.” Ophelia murmurs against her skin, and for a good long while all she can do is bury her face in the other woman’s hair and hope she isn’t shaking too horribly.

“Lempi. That’s my full name,” she manages after what feels like years, trying not to wince as her voice cracks. But Ophelia simply leans closer, humming in thought, and hooks some fingers through Lempi’s belt loops. Says “ _Lempi,”_ in a way that’s sweet, possessive, reassuring all at once even as it sends a shiver down the healer’s spine.

“Whatever you need, we’ll figure it out,” Ophelia adds firmly, unwavering as always, and for once… for once, Lempi believes.

*                        

The first time someone calls her Miss, she ends up fumbling with the rough med kit she was trying to put back together again.

Just a cheerful “Thanks, miss!” as the Reaper was heading out, a wave of a bony hand with a ring of plaster holding a cracked finger bone together, and Lempi-

Lempi has nothing to say in reply, even as her face burns. Doesn’t know what to do with this sudden giddiness that leaves her smiling at the ground, not even quite sure why she presses a hand to her cheek. “Bless the dead,” slips from her mouth quietly, and there’s something close to wonder in her voice that she doesn’t look at too deeply.

It’s only been a handful of days since her talk with Ophelia, a quiet period as Ironheade licked its wounds, and even if she was keeping to herself out of nerves… Two words, and it felt like the world suddenly flipped on its head. She knew in a distant kind of way Ophelia had pulled some people aside, the Brides and some of the Frightwigs she tended to work closely with, but to hear it from someone else’s mouth-

Fuck, it made her feel on top of the world. Made her feel invincible for a moment, the same way she felt sweeping into a double team with Ophelia or Crowley. Like there was an ember in her chest, a small sun breathed into her by Ormagöden himself, and nothing could dim it. She feels _happy,_ in that delirious breathless way of another stage battle won, another morning waking up between her partners.

It was the same way she felt earlier snagging one of Crowley’s extra shirts, and for once... for once she felt like she could breathe easier when she passed their mirror. Sure she had to roll up the sleeves past her elbows so they’d stay, had to tuck in a bit so the shirttails wouldn’t catch on anything, but it sat just differently enough to be comfortable. Looked decent underneath her duster, the constant presence that was both grounding and obscuring in a way that soothed her nerves.

With the Doom, she was just…. Lempi, with a bass at her back and healer’s magic pumping in time with her heart. It doesn’t matter if the shirt hangs a bit loose in the chest, doesn’t matter if her coat made her shoulders look broader when it’s pulled too tight. Having some lace around her throat is just a fashion choice, not something that marks her as different, and-

It’s a day of firsts that she wishes could last forever _,_ so she can relive that giddy feeling again and again. Hear the Reaper call her ‘Miss’ without hesitance, Janet chitter her name in absolute glee as she walks up, and the sweet moment where Dahlia had smiled at her, said  “Love is a fine thing to be named for, Lempi,” and her heart all but sang.

(“She would’ve called you Lempi,” Uncle Dia admitted softly years ago holding her close as she shook, eighteen and terrified of things she wanted, things she was sure she’d never have. “Her and your da would be so proud of you, my brave girl,” and he never said a thing as her tears stained his shirt.)

*

The first time she wears lipstick, it’s… something she can’t put her finger on.

Changes her face in a way she can’t explain. Something about the curve of her mouth, how the stark black looks against her skin. Nothing’s changed much with her, besides a borrowed dress shirt that’s quietly become hers, hair framing her face more often than not, and still there’s something different.

It’s like there’s someone else in the mirror, in that moment. A woman with a sharp jaw, dark hair, and ink for a mouth. Going through the motions of introducing herself, with a quirk of the lips that Ophelia, Crowley, have worn before. An easy sly little thing that flashes some teeth, is less self-deprecating and more self-assured. Her voice is more a husky kind of low with the way she pitches it rather than some deep rasping thing, and for a moment, a golden shining moment-

Oh, Lempi wants to laugh, grins in satisfaction instead as she ducks her head, has to tuck more hair behind an ear. There’s still no piercings yet, nothing more than a band of lace around her throat alongside her old necklace, but there’s just… more, in that moment. A step to the left in the world, where things finally fall into place.

She trails her fingers over the pendant resting near her collar almost idly, tilting her head to the side slightly so hair brushes past her cheek. For a moment she indulges in a flash of fantasy, imagining… imagining…

Gods, it’s such a small thing she imagines when she closes her eyes for a moment.

Some ambiguous day after the rebellion has ended, a comfortable room with the light streaming in. The same mirror leaned on a table pushed up against the wall, the same table with the scarred and stained wood underneath her hands. Crowley whistling some aimless thing that swoops and dives, interrupted by a laugh. Ophelia chuckles lowly, followed by Crowley humming some smooth light thing as they sway together.

All Lempi would have to do is open her eyes, and see them in the reflection-

There’s the sound of someone pushing past the tent flap, and it’s easy enough to turn that direction. Easy to let the fantasy disappear like gossamer threads in the sunlight, face to face with the real thing. Because someday, there will be a room with windows that let the light stream in. Someday there will be a stable place where they live, rather than moving when the latest stage battle has gone against them. There will be feasting, and dancing, and music.

Today they have this, and it’s enough.

“I was just thinking of you,” Lempi says with a slight smile, arm draped on the back of the chair easily, resting her cheek against her arm. It’s with a lazy kind of contentment she watches Crowley unclip the axe from her belt and lean it against their planning table, toss her bowler onto their latest rough stage plan. Quick to join it is the leather band that held her locs back, and a small thrill goes up Lempi’s spine as they frame the other woman’s face so beautifully.

“Good things I hope, beautiful.” Crowley replies with a fond grin as she shucks her jacket, hangs it off of the back of her chair.  Next to go is her cufflinks, undone idly as the Drowned woman wanders closer, softly clinking as they’re placed on the scarred wood of their makeshift vanity. Lempi sits up slightly when Crowley’s cool hand covers hers on the table, as a familiar calloused hand cups her cheek and she turns into the touch, eyes drifting close with absolute trust.

Gods, Crowley still has the smell of lavender and graveyard dirt on her, and it’s something that means home now.

“Only the best, love,” Lempi all but breathes out, meeting Crowley’s gaze without hesitance afterwards. And when Crowley tilts her chin up slightly, leaning down for a kiss, the healer doesn’t hesitate to rest a hand at the back of the other woman’s neck. Melts into it with a soft sight, with a thumb gently drawn down her cheek.

(Lipstick isn’t an everyday kind of thing, but when the mood strikes her, it does a damn fine job of making her feel just that little more confident, that little more self-assured.)

*

Ophelia and Crowley walk with her to the Sea as far as they can, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, a hand in the small of her back. Forget-me-nots and lavender have been carefully braided into her hair, something Crowley had murmured into her ear, and her skin still itches slightly where ink has dried on it. Loose symbols sprawling over her shoulders, down her spine, curling around her ribs lazily.  Crowley’s marks have faded with age, been obscured by some scarring, but there was still enough there to fill in the gaps with an older Gravedigger’s assistance.

Still enough for one last miracle hopefully, as they draw to a stop. Ophelia cups her cheek, and gently presses a kiss to her lips before stepping back with a soft “Good luck.” Crowley kisses her too, thumb trailing down her cheekbone, and murmurs “We’ll be here, when you get back,” before going to Ophelia’s side. Lempi manages a jerky nod, hand fluttering at her side with the urge to reach out, barely resisting. The two Drowned women watch her as she leaves, the only sound the Sea’s waves on the sand, and more sand shifting underneath the pair of flats she borrowed from one of the Brides.

The cave she needs isn’t too far off now, and when she gets there she’ll have to shed her flats, and undo the pins at her shoulders keeping her dress from slipping off. The loose fabric acting as a belt will be easy enough to turn into a chest wrap, if needs must.

Calling upon otherworldly entities for assistance means following certain rules, and she’ll do what she has to if it means being herself.

Out here, further away from the mines, all the stone is black with a faint blue sheen. The sand itself is black as well, stained permanently by the Sea. There are shards of rounded dark sea glass underfoot, and she wonders idly about taking some back with her. Proof of her journey perhaps if her marks are washed away, tokens of survival after brushing past Aetulia herself.

She’ll get there when she gets there, though. Lempi still needs to actually _survive_ first.

(“Are you sure? It could-” Ophelia began softly, and Lempi had quieted her with a kiss. Murmured “As long as I’m yours, I’ll live,” as she trailed her fingers down Ophelia’s cheek. Even if she did Drown, they already knew the truth.)

The cave looks like any of the others scattered around the fringes of the Sea. Rounded off around the edges, a kind of drippy look with the stalactites and stalagmites near the entrance, and so very dark when you look inside. All-consuming like walking into the night itself, and it should be overwhelming, but-

All Lempi can think of in the moment is of her lovers’ eyes, how she loved looking into them, and it’s enough to steel her nerves as she takes the last few steps forward.

The flats are slipped off easily, nearly lost in the shadows of the cave. The belt slips from her fingers like water, and is the only moment of hesitance she’ll allow herself. She wants this, the same way she wanted to run, wanted to end up in Ophelia and Crowley’s arms, and nothing could stop her now. Nothing could stop her as she pulls the silver pins from her shoulders, and the dark fabric pools around her feet.

Then there’s just sand under her feet and stone against her hands as she walks into the darkness, trying not to lose her way.

*                                                                                                                  

Eventually the darkness gives way to a strange purple glow, coming from patches of moss on the wall, the ceiling. Just enough light for her eyes to adjust so her footsteps are less cautious, until she’s light on her feet and unafraid. She isn’t the first to make their way here, and won’t be the last as long as this is remembered.

It means the pool within the belly of the cave looks like oil as it ripples under some invisible tide, with an odd purple sheen. At one end there’s a rough… alcove in the stone, an even rougher statue that seems carved into the spot itself. Someone with their hands clasped close to their chest, long hair that hangs down to the ground, becomes part of it. Kind eyes that are an outline, an easy smile that’s been smoothed out by time, and the vague suggestion of curved hips.

Some strange distant memory of Aetulia stands before her, simple but graceful, and for a moment Lempi pauses. Feels, for a heartbeat, something stirring in her chest. Not the earth giving out under her, or some sudden tide of regret dragging her down. It’s something closer to…

Closer to…

The feeling she got looking up at the sky, when she was all alone and the stars sprawled endlessly. The feeling of something _bigger_ out there than she’d ever be, and it made everything else comfortingly small. Her own worries nothing more than a grain of sand in the face of the darkness above her, some of Aetulia’s tears wept in joy forever preserved as the stars.

(The same feeling she felt all those months ago, finally seeing Ophelia with her Razor Girls and something welled up in her chest. That thought that finally clawed its way out of the grave she shoved it into, a quiet murmur of _what if that was me_. What if it was her with jeans that hugged the curve of her hips, lipstick that made her grins all the wider, and there was that itchy feeling at her back-)

Lempi lets out a shuddering breath, and finally looks away. Scrubs a hand down her face so there’s a reason her eyes aren’t drawn to the statue anymore, and rests a hand over her heart for a moment to center herself. Her heartbeat’s always been something steady, a reliable constant since the first time she woke up with the Brides, and even now it doesn’t fail her.

There’s just the soft thud of her heart under her fingers, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Just the sound of the water rippling, and her own resolve steadying again as her eyes follow the way the light plays over this fragment of the Sea.

For a moment the world holds its breath as she steps forward into the pool, water brushing past Lempi’s calves as she pauses on the sunken-in steps, and then Aetulia _moves._

Harsh gray stone bleeds into bone-white, pitch black hair shivering in the air as waves of some unknown shore. An unearthly kind of beauty with dark eyes practically absorbing the light, light all but bending around her as her skin remains bone-clean, black hair like the night itself. Time, and all those other things that go along with it, are nothing in the face of a goddess full of belief.

She’s a stamp on reality, a self-imposed image that rises above all else, and terrifically beautiful, absolutely divine.

Lempi’s heart is in her throat as she’s stuck in place, face to face with the sublime. She’d cried out to the Five Ladies time after time, chasing after old tales, but this-

Aetulia smiles, a soft kind thing, and the world breathes again.

“ _Co͘͜m̧e̕͠ ͢h̶͞ę̕rȩ̢͘,̶ ̧͠da̡r̵l͡in̨g.̡ ̷̡Ḑ͘o͡n͏͟͡'̸̢t̴ ͞b̸͠e s̡͡͝h͟y̶_ ,͏” Aetulia croons, words burbling like a river and smooth as polished rocks, and Lempi steps further into the contained pool with a shuddering breath, the water raising up past her waist, barely brushing the inked words on her lower ribs. It’s cold as snow against her skin, and for a moment she’d swear there were tendrils brushing past her, curling fondly around her legs before unspooling into nothingness. But still she stands there unwavering, flowers in her hair and hopes painted on her skin.

 _“L͠e̵̢t̶͡'s ̶̷h̸͡ave̕͏͠ ̛a̕͡ ͞lo͏̴o͠k at̕ ̴̢y̶̛͠o̢͏u,”_ Aetulia asks with a voice like bells, like the waves on the surf as the goddess gestures towards her stiffly, and-

With a voice that's now _stolen_ , that's Ophelia's and Crowley's and her uncle's and her parent's, the voices of everyone she's ever loved, who have shaped her life. A stolen voice because there needs to be a mouth and a throat to actually make the words, and Aetulia's has long since been emptied. Borrowing scraps and fragments of life to fill a mouth full of ash, to give things weight when otherwise they'd be nothing more than cobwebs on the wind.

Aetulia still lives yet does not live, like a far-off candle whose light still shines even as it's been blown out elsewhere, and what better place for walking memories than the land of the Drowned Doom?

Lempi almost says something in reply as she unconsciously moves closer, almost asks one of the old questions that rolled around her head at night, the things that left ashes in her mouth, but Aetulia’s smile leaves the words dying in her throat. The Doom called Aetulia their Mother of Tears, giver of a second life, and for a moment-

For a heartbreaking moment, it’s a smile she hasn’t seen in over twenty years. A memory worn thin finally given a breath of life again, and the next breath Lempi takes is shaking. There’s the frustrating prickle of tears during one of the best moments of her life, and yet she can’t bring herself to wipe them away.

It’s been so long since she could remember the exact shape of her mother’s smile.

 _“O̶̧͟h͞,͘͠ ̢̕͟L̢̧e̴͏m͟p̵i̶͢,”_ Aetulia begins, words soft and gentle like the wind disturbing a pond, and the pool isn’t disturbed as the goddess walks forward. Draws close enough to rest a cool stone hand on Lempi’s shoulder, stiff fingers brushing idly over the marks there. A winter wind rushes through her, the kind of coldness that’s dry and cuts right to the bone, for a moment the world drops out from under her-

Lips made of stone press gently, chastely against her cheek, jolt her back into her own skin.  Leave her meeting void-black eyes with her own, that slight smile still playing over the goddess’ mouth. “ _My͡͞ ͏̨b̵r͢͠ą͜v͠e̡͠͡ ̢gi̧̛r̡l,͏͏̵_ _”_ Aetulia continues, for a moment the vowels rolling in her mouth like polished stone, a phrase plucked right from the past, and Lempi can’t help the shaky laugh that breaks free.

 _“L̡͜e͘͟t’̸͡͡s͜ s̕e̸t͢ t͞͡h̢̡i̶n͝͞gs̨͝ ̨͏r̨̕̕i̢g̛h̛t,̧_ _”_ Aetulia says, words unwavering, no shred of doubt whatsoever about it, and Lempi accepts the hand offered afterwards. Her heart is in her throat as Aetulia guides her to sink, let the water slip over her forearms, her chest, but there’s no reason to hesitate. Nothing to stop her as the water cradles her gently, as she leans partially against the pool’s edge, because this is everything she’s _dreamed_ about.

Someone finally hearing her, and answering her call.

Aetulia’s fingers drift down Lempi’s chest, drawing some strange winding pattern from memory, before resting right over her stomach. Cool stone palm pressed lightly against soft giving skin, cool stone fingers curling slightly, just enough for flesh to be dimpled, and-

The searing pain comes suddenly, something _jaggedpiercingburning_ through the whole of her that makes her scream in a way that leaves her throat raw, the sound closer to that of a dying animal than a human in the moment, and she can’t struggle away as the water holds her down, as Aetulia’s hands sink _into_ her-

Everything blanks out for a moment, and when Lempi resurfaces it feels like she’s been filled up with ice. Unable to move, unable to feel besides some vague pressure, and her view hasn’t changed from the cave ceiling. There’s still the soft voices she associates with the Sea, louder than a murmur of the edge of her hearing, a loose stream of consciousness that’s become almost comforting. Her eyes flutter shut as she drifts with the endearments, fragmented sentences, anything as long as she isn’t focusing on the sharp snap of bone, a wet meaty sound she still associated with cutting down the metal spider’s prey.

Then, Aetulia begins to [sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POrB_qu9JRE).

A rolling sprawling thing like waves crashing on the surf, not of sorrow but of creation as she reshapes flesh and bone. Aetulia of Song striding forward to answer one of her children, care for them one of the few ways she once knew how and could still carry out. It takes Lempi a moment to find her voice, shaking as it is with her lungs still submerged, but when she finally joins in-

One of Aetulia’s cool hands gently brushes away tears she hadn’t even noticed, gently cups her cheek like a snowstorm embracing some person gone adrift. A watery murmur of “ _W̵͘e'̵̕r̶̡͞e͟ ͝al̨̕m̕o̢͘s͡t͟ ̸d̴̢o̷͏ne,_ ” makes Lempi laugh a bit wetly in their brief pause, a moment where goddess and student are on equal footing.

“Please, _please,_ ” She manages to choke out, not even sure what she’s asking for anymore besides some strange jumble of feelings that are hazy, indistinct. Aetulia’s hands are Ophelia’s hands, Crowley’s, always so gentle and kind as they gathered up her fragments, began piecing them back together, and maybe it’s a sign she was always meant to be here, be theirs-

Aetulia begins to sing once more and that’s answer enough as Lempi’s eyes close again, voice rising up from her chest unprompted to twine back with her patron’s.

And just as Aetulia had assured her, it ends soon enough.

*

Everything feels raw afterwards, as she retraces her footsteps back to the entrance of the cave.

Every inch of her scoured to the point of sensitivity, old scars and a tattoo left to mark the passage of time alone, and she traces some of them idly as she walks. There, on her forearms, bite-marks from fussy hatchlings she trained herself. There, on her shoulder, a spade tattoo she got in an attempt at feeling some kind of control over her own body. Near her stomach, the reminder of a few scratches from a fight long ago.  A few light freckles down the back of her arms from ages in the sun, a mole she remembers on the back of her neck because she always scratched it by accident. Things that were undoubtedly hers, just…

Adjusted a tiny bit, the same way it took her a few minutes to get used to simply shifting from foot to foot with weight in different places. Adjusting to the idea that she could run a hand down from her side, over her hip, and there was a curve there instead of a harsh line. Hell, she had to get used to the idea of feeling for her heart beat closer to her collarbone instead, which was just…the smallest thing to pick up on, but still thrilling in its own way because it was _her_ now. This was how she moved, this is how her calming motion had to change, this is how she goes from here on out with steady feet.

Leaving the cave feels like the start of a new life. The chill against her skin is more biting, the sand coarser underneath her feet. The waves against the sand sound just that tiny bit louder, and everything looks a shade sharper than it once did.  Realistically none of these things changed, but it sure as hell feels like it as she pulls on the dress again, trying to keep her hands steady with the pins. Brushing some hair out of her face, only to laugh when one of the lavender blooms comes free and it smells so amazing in the moment.

And so, Lempi laughs as she stands by herself outside of the cave. Laughs because she met Aetulia herself, and never once wavered. Laughs because she’s hopeless with the pins, and she’ll never get the dress to ever drape the same way Daphne managed to show her. Laughs because, against all the odds, her dreams have come true.

Kill Master died, died in an accident in a graveyard, and Lempi crawled out of the ashes. Took a risk on finally naming herself without hesitance, because the Doom cared in a way that Ironheade never had. Encouraged her to _be_ in a way she hadn’t felt since she was twelve and her dad taught her how to ride a raptor elk, since she was eighteen with hope burning on her tongue and her uncle sat and listened. She’d still never be like the Brides, be like Ophelia, but she’d be like Crowley, like the other Doom women who were Gravediggers, Ratguts, and Organists.

She’d be like Calla with her tailcoat that flared out before she began to play, Meg who always grumbled about grave dirt on her striped shirt, Cordelia with her large coat always full of rats, and there wouldn’t be a single damn thing wrong with that.

Lempi would be herself through and through, and that was the most important thing of all.

She doesn’t take off in a run the second she slips the borrowed flats back on, but it does happen when she sees Ophelia and Crowley right where she left them. Doesn’t hesitate to fall into their arms almost immediately as she’s smiling wide enough her cheeks hurt, vision going a bit blurry with tears as they say her name, as they hold her close and their affection burns away some affliction she’d never named but never been able to shake. They kiss her and kiss her until it’s honestly ridiculous, until she’s laughing again because this, _this_ is everything she’s ever wanted as she throws her arms around their necks.

Her skin to finally be hers instead of some ill-fitted borrowed thing, and people who felt like home.

*

Riggs comes out of nowhere as a shadow, a nightmare given shape, and there’s not enough time for her to lash out at him before he snatches her away from the stage battle. No matter how sharp her teeth feel as they sink into the hand covering her mouth, no matter how harshly she digs her gloved fingers into the meat of his arms, he won’t let go. At best she gets a yelp for her efforts, the taste of blood bursting in her mouth like wine as it drips down her face, staining her teeth, the white paint all the way down to her chin.

And even in something so hopeless at first glance she grins, because there’s still healer’s magic thumping through her heart, Aetulia’s touch an aching memory in her bones. As long as she has that, has _herself,_ then she’s never truly without anything.

Then Riggs lashes out with all the panic of a cornered brawler, fist slamming into her nose with a sickening crack _,_ and the noise that rips free is more like a wounded animal’s keen than anything else as it feels like hundreds of needles jammed right into her face. The sound is sharp and jagged, blood sickeningly warm as it flows down, staining her paint beyond hope, and for some reason-

Lempi would stake her life on the fact that he only drops her because there’s red on his hands, instead of the black Tears he’d expected. Sheer fucking luck on her part, and even as she’s dropped the last few feet towards the harsh ground of the mines she sends an idle thanks Aetulia’s direction. Being left wheezing from the sudden drop is better than another brush with cracked ribs, and she’ll take what she can get as she gets back to her feet before Riggs even touches the ground again.

By now, the mines are _her_ territory as she digs her boots into the gravel to keep her stance solid, arms held defensively at her side. The blood on Riggs’ hand is dark, dark as if it’s been exposed for hours instead of minutes, and something cold nestles in Lempi’s chest at the sight. Aetulia leaves her mark wherever she goes, after all, and she’d stepped into the pool willingly.

“Wha- why’re you bleeding red, what kinda fuckin’ experiment are you-” Riggs demands, words jumbled with his alarm, staring at her in something close to horror, and all she can do is laugh.

Laugh and laugh and _laugh_ even if that means blood manages to slip down her throat, even if there’s a sharp edge to it that scares herself ever so slightly. When she looks to him again, it’s a strange kind of delight to see him flinch, take a step back in panic as she bares her teeth in a grin. It’s nowhere near predatory, nothing like a panther in the dark or a metal beast cornering its prey, but all the Doom have a particular flare for looking like death, even the living members, small as they were.

(And right now she’s clinging to the memory of Ophelia’s heartbeat under her ear as she fell asleep, the way Crowley’s chest rose and fell out of habit even if she was undead, and-)

“What’s wrong, Eddie? Never seen a living woman before?” Lempi taunts, digging into old habit the same way one would pry open a wound, and her following laugh is bright as Riggs rears back as if he’d been physically hit. Her voice may still have her old rasp, but in that moment she feels like one of the Five Ladies themselves casting judgment down, drunk on something close to power. “Sounds about right, with all the ones you leave for dead. All that blood on your hands, Riggs, how clean can they get anymore?”  Without thought she wipes the bottom of her face with the sleeve of her duster afterwards, old habit rearing its head even if it's more than the usual sweat.

Even as her stomach drops a second later, a quiet mantra of _don’t recognize me, don’t recognize me_ humming away, she lets her arm drop anyways, the bottom of her face wiped relatively clean. Let him see what he did with his own hands, let him see the woman he condemned without even realizing it, let him _choke-_

There’s no recognition in the man’s eyes, a certain furrowing of the brow in confusion, and the lingering weight on her shoulders tangled up with Ironheade turns into nothing more than mist. Another laugh threatens to bubble out from her, simply float up from the deepest reaches of her stomach in a full-bodied thing that’d leave her absolutely shaking in- what, relief, delight, absolution from her past? But instead she stifles it, grinning nonetheless as she meets his eyes dead-on, and ignores the ache in her side where the old breaks in her ribs are protesting, the jabbing sharp pain in her face, the dull throbbing of her knee.

“Who are you, why’re doing this, Ophelia ain’t-” Riggs begins, only to let out a noise of frustration as he drags a still-clawed hand through his hair, a hint of a snarl in the curl of his mouth. “She ain’t the woman who broke you out, not anymore.” He continues, and oh, _oh,_ Aetulia bless him for weaving together a story for her, trying to make sense of things when there’s none to be found. Amusement wins out over the quiet anger stirring deep inside her chest, and how can she resist the temptation to indulge?

Her grin is sharp as a knife when she all but purrs “Me? Why I’m nobody, Riggs, wasn’t anybody at all ‘til I met her. Started my life in her arms, why’d I ever leave?” Lempi gestures grandly to their surroundings, fondness curling in her chest as the fog swirls up as if by her command. She adds easily, almost carelessly with a shrug, “The Doom took me in, gave me a home. What better could you offer me?”

“Uh, an actual _life,_ maybe, death not hanging over your head? Second you bite it, she won’t cry for a second.” Riggs begins, derision all but dripping off of his words, a bit of bitterness rearing its head by the end. “You come back, it’d be all smoothed away. Razor Girls would probably be happy to have you back, Miss…?”

The beseeching edge as he asks her name leaves Lempi snorting before she can help herself, dropping her arms back to her side again. “Wouldn’t you like to know? I’m but a shade, an echo in memory. You won’t find anything now.” She gives him a mocking little bow, for once glad that he’d never stuck around long enough to learn how she teased someone fondly, never learned how humor settled around her mouth. “Living in the Queen’s light is reward enough for me, as it is.” To wake up in her lovers’ arms, to see Ophelia in the moonlight, to hear Crowley’s laugh-

Oh, they were the sweetest things in the world, and things she’d crave up until the day she breathed her last.  She was theirs, just as they were hers, and nothing could change that.

Riggs scoffs, for a moment looking so horribly cruel in demon guise as he tosses out a bitter “Well then, Miss Shade, don’t come cryin’ back to us when she turns on you. Looks like your minder’s found us out.” He lets out a noise of disgust at the shadow of wings that passes over them, flares out his own in a visible display of discomfort. “You can’t come back from this, no matter what.” He adds, for a moment his voice soft, even gentle, and for a moment… Lempi feels a flicker of sympathy, before promptly squashing it.

“I wouldn’t want to, Riggs. This is where I belong, more than I ever did there.” Lempi replies breezily as she stands back to her full height, hands tucked loosely in the pockets of her duster. And when Riggs leaves her by herself, barely a moment before Crowley lands with a snarl and ready to lash out at a moment’s notice, she _laughs_ with the shackles of her past finally turned to ash with tangible proof.

(“Lempi Shade has a nice ring to it, yeah?” She asks her partners with a grin the same night, pressing a kiss to Ophelia’s shoulder, drifting her fingers down Crowley’s arm. The next time she walks into a stage battle the Ironheade units call her a mix of the Groom or the Widow, and the entire thing leaves her in stitches.)

*

Lempi still shifts guises as she trains her new batch of students, the Groom into the Re-Animator, and does it for a simple reason: it means there’s no one to try and stop her.

Riggs knows, he has to know with the same bass at her back, but on a steed it’s all the more difficult for her to be stolen away. She laughs like death astride a pale horse, her lingering smoker’s rasp an advantage in the moment, and it’s hard to be singled out when a skull completes her disguise. There’s no Razor Girls squinting, trying to make out the face of someone who could’ve been theirs, no healers trying to figure out a living mystery who stole away with their secrets.

She can be anyone, anything with the Doom’s support, and she embraces it as easily as breathing.

The marks she wore for Aetulia are as good as tattooed on her skin, and she can’t find any regrets about that. Not when Crowley always traced fingers down the ones on the back of her neck, Ophelia pressed kisses to the ones on her shoulders absently when they got ready for bed. They tell her future more than they tell her past, and that’s a gift for the days where the doubts rear their heads again, a reassurance when sometimes things felt _off_ in a way she couldn’t name.

It happens less as time goes by, but it still happens.

The moments where her hair is pulled back, and instead of casual comfort it leaves something twisting in her stomach. The moments where she’s tired with bags under her eyes, the set of her mouth harsh, and it’s not something even Aetulia herself could wipe away. It’s hard for the past to ever fully rest even with everything else falling into place, but she learns how to make it work.

On the days where pulling her hair back bothers her, she borrows Ophelia’s extra clips instead to keep it out of her eyes. Leaves the rest of it loose, the way she once did, and feels her heart stutter a little when one of her wives calls her beautiful in passing. The days where her mouth is harsh, her eyes look like someone else’s, there’s black lipstick and dark eye-shadow that make all the difference.  It ends up smudged by the time the day is out from absentmindedly wiping at her eyes, her face, but in the moment it’s enough.

Kill Master was a plains child born and raised, always on the run, running from ghosts, memories, the past, but-

Lempi is a child of the Doom, unwavering, unflinching as she stands her ground.

Her spine is steel and her words like roses, pretty with thorns that catch when she lashes out, a woman touched by death in ways that changed everything. The past still lingers at her heels, but nothing that could catch her, slow her down the way it once did. She still mourns, will always mourn for those she's lost in some quiet way, but she doesn’t choke on ash anymore.

Lempi has finally strode out into the light of day, and how she _loves_ it. Her past self is six feet under, deader than dead since the first time she could finally call herself Lem, and the first piercing in the cartilage of her ear feels like a promise as she toys with it in passing as she corrects a new student’s work. The first ring on her hand, gleaming chrome, shines on her hand like a star as she smothers a laugh. Laugh lines are more common than ever, and it’s the small things she adores.

She takes Ophelia’s last name after their marriage, and she’s not quite sure the fuzzy feeling of introducing herself as Lempi Paige will ever wear off. She has a new life, a new start, and she’ll treasure every second of it.

(“We’re going to be mothers,” Ophelia tells that at some point, a soft thing in disbelief, and it’s a miracle Lempi’s voice doesn’t waver as she says “We’ll be the best damn ones, then.” And they are.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, my name's Nathan McOwl and I rubbed my trans hands all over this video game. Happy Pride, ya nerds.


End file.
